Life at 60

Tags

birthdays, happiness

The days are long, but the years are short”                   -Third Splendid Truth, ‘The Happiness Project’

It’s not every day a person turns 60.  Some never make it at all.  So I am grateful for every fleeting year.  After posting recently on the topic of grief, it seems completely appropriate to write about Happiness.  They are two sides of the same coin. Seeing this milestone heading for me at warp speed, I’ve been taking stock, and as part of that process thought I’d examine the idea of happiness. A few weeks ago, the planets aligned and the time was right to read ‘The Happiness Project” by Gretchen Rubin.  I’ve been intending to read it for years, but you know, timing is everything.

While reading THP two things stood out for me.  Happiness, or rather ‘being happy’, is a verb, an active choice, more than it is a noun and permanent place to reside; and the second thing was: my entire life has been a happiness project!!  That is a big statement, I know, but it was a great discovery and well worth reading the book to find out!

As I read THP I found myself thinking back to things I have done in my 60 years.  But even more important than what I have done, was how I did it, the choices, the frame of mind, the work.  By no means have my choices been perfect nor their execution flawless, but that too is a great teacher.

I was left asking myself what is it I do now to keep myself happy?  Perhaps this short list will be of interest to you.  These are some of the things I do, mostly on a daily basis, that I believe contribute to my happiness.

1)   Regular exercise, mostly walking, some weight bearing,.  I exercise alone with my iPod.  The music I choose makes me feel good and my day hardly feels right if I don’t start with a half an hour walk. (Sometimes when I think no one is looking, I’ve been known to bust a move!)

Part of my walking path

2)   Read what I enjoy, not what is socially popular or academically acceptable

3)   Surround myself with people who appreciate me and with whom I feel safe

4)   Try new things regularly (they needn’t be big things)

5)   Be grateful

6)   Eat real food, mostly plants, not too much (read: In Defence of Food by Michael Pollan)

7)   Do work from which I learn or am gratified (even in retirement)

8)   Grow things, mostly herbs

Winter garden

9)   Try to learn from everything I do

10)  Read, listen, watch and pursue things which feed me

11) Choose not to dwell in the realm of guilt

12)  Lick the beaters and the bowl but will share when required

I wish I had known 50 years ago that being happy was more a matter of practice than of purchasing power or status.  It’s probably one of those things I just had to learn for myself over time.  What a shame we get so smart so late in life!

Me and He

Have the conversation.

Tags

breast cancer, cancer, health, mammograms

Two years ago this week I had a routine mammogram that showed I needed a needle biopsy.  Less than a week later I had flown 1500km to have the biopsy as quickly as possible, and a few days later, back at home, May 31^st, I was told I had breast cancer.  Last evening we saw in the news that Angelina Jolie has taken preventative measures after learning she has the BRCA 2 gene.

Many are calling her courageous and, yes, I do too, because all women who face this decision have not only the difficult decision itself but the pain and consequences inherent in such a decision.  But let’s be clear about what leads to this courageous decision and course of action. What is the conversation we need to have?  First, have the conversation with yourself about getting routine checkups.

The thing I have learned about cancer (read: ‘The Emperor of All Maladies’ by Siddhartha Mukherjee) is that almost every single case is unique.  Try to get your head around that.  Each human being is unique, and each cancer is as well.  The combinations of possibilities are endless.  If we don’t do our part to look after ourselves and to have checkups is it any wonder in which direction that behaviour will tip the scales?

Be pro-active.  In my own case, I live in a remote area of Outback Australia but I made the habit of getting a routine mammogram from the time I turned 50.  There was a lot of cancer in my Dad’s family.  His mother had breast cancer at about the same age as did I.  Dad had prostate cancer which is what is called a ‘soft tissue’ cancer and has some influence on the inherited tendencies.  At the age of 47 I had an upper endoscopy and was told I had what could potentially become esophageal cancer. After following the doctor’s advice a follow up endoscopy last year (12 years later) has shown the problem has been reversed.  I have had 13 moles removed, 12 of which were the type that turn into melanoma.  At the age of 52 I had my ovaries removed when I had a hysterectomy.  At age 58 I had the breast cancer followed by 7 weeks/five times a week, radiation treatment.  And all this while one of my closest friends, about whom I’ve written on my blog (read: Remembering Ivy) was battling breast cancer and eventually died from it, having had a preventative double mastectomy!!!  Let me repeat that, she had a preventative double mastectomy.

Here is the rest of the conversation you must have with yourself and with others, if you can.  Discuss options.  Be as open as you can about your experience, if you have had cancer or loved someone who has.  There are no guarantees in life.  I have lived healthy, am not overweight, have exercised, tried to reduce stress, breathed clean air, don’t smoke, wear sunscreen etc. etc.  I got cancer.  Ivy was the same.  She died of secondary breast cancer at the age of 58.  There are no guarantees.  Have the conversations, have the tests and have the treatment.  Give yourself a better chance.

Be pro-active.

Mother’s Day

Tags

family, life, Mother's Day, rose hip tea

Ruby Red Rose Hip tea and my favourite word

Even though I don’t particularly enjoy the commercial aspect of Mother’s Day, it is my favourite holiday.  American Thanksgiving is the second.  They are both about being grateful for what you have.  I woke up today, Mother’s Day 2013 to rain.  Not just rain, actually, it is pelting down! Living in an arid zone that has not seen real rain for months, I have another reason to be grateful today!

This morning I opened the Mother’s Day gift my daughter had sent.  Recently I have discovered rose hip tea.  I was with her a couple of weeks ago when this happened and the very special part of my gift of a large box of gorgeous Ruby Red Rose Hip tea, is that she remembered I enjoyed it.  That is love in action. She also tucked in another little item I had mentioned wanting to try some time.  More love… the thought, more than the gift, but the gift is nice too!!

The mountain is hidden behind a heavy sheet of moisture and the sound of rain is like music.  So today I will drink Ruby Red Rose Hip tea and enjoy the rain and be grateful that I have had the blessing of a wonderful daughter, and have had a life time of being a beloved daughter myself.

Grief

Tags

death, grief, hopefulness, sadness

Spring renewal, Ohio dogwoods

It has been just over two months since Dad died.  I have been through grief before.  Without intending to demean his loss, it is pretty much like the other times I have grieved.  Elizabeth Kubler-Ross’s legacy to our society was her determination of the five stages of grief (read: http://grief.com/the-five-stages-of-grief/).  Her original concept is fairly true, in my experience, though this website updates it and validates an individual’s path of grief, which can be unique.  In my own version of grieving I have not found the ‘bargaining’ stage to be relevant… shock, yes, but no bargaining.  I am somehow able to accept that the departure of our loved ones from earthly existence is not something we have any control over.

What I experience as grief is an underlying sadness that seems to come to the surface, sometimes at the oddest and most inconvenient moments.  This morning began in a happy and constructive way with a brisk walk, favourite tunes on my iPod and then a quiet, relatively calm browse through the grocery store.  At one stage as I bought a can of fruit, located adjacent to the candy isle, my brain betrayed me and shot off most unexpectedly as my eyes found some packets of licorice.  When I visited my parents over the years I used to frequently buy my Dad some of his favourite candies, among them licorice, Necco wafers, and butter mints.  Today as my eyes passed over the licorice it occurred to me I would never buy that for him again, and suddenly the lump was there in my throat and the tears rimmed my eyes… and I needed to buy milk.  Uuuuuggghhh.  If I had been at home I could have had a little cry and moved on, but I really didn’t want to let loose in the middle of the grocery.  So I kept my eyes down, felt it, and thought more about some of the other little treats I would not share with him again.  I will get used to it.

The other time that I am often surprised by the grief is when someone expresses genuine kindness to me, in sympathy for the loss.  This unexpected kindness grabs me and tears open a small hole through which the sadness bubbles up again, and the tears quickly follow.  I try not to cry because I don’t want the other person to feel as if they’ve done the wrong thing.  They have not.  It is through this expression of kindness I appreciate my fellow human beings in a special way. Helping me feel this deep connection is anything but wrong.

I have been oddly aware for years that life was preparing me for greater and greater losses.  This knowledge does not lessen the loss, but perhaps somehow makes the pain more bearable.  It has hidden inside it a sort of hopefulness, a knowing that I will get through.  The times when the sadness prevails become fewer.  Eventually, I will enjoy life with deepening gratitude.

How do you express or experience grief?

Postal Service Anyone?

Tags

postal service, service, using laughter

In Australia one must post a card or letter at a post box or a post office.  There is no home pick up as there is in the USA.  So, this morning, even though I had a stamp on the card I was sending, a little niggle sent me inside the post office to double check I had the correct amount.  It changes all the time and is impossible to keep up with unless you are posting things regularly, which I am not.  When I got to the counter and explained to the clerk what I wanted to do, she noticed a bump through the envelope and the following conversation ensued:

Her (pointing to the bump);“Is that only a card?”

Me; “Yes, it’s just a fancy card with an embellishment on it”.

Her; “ Well, it will cost a dollar more and you will have to fill out a customs declaration form”

Me (laughing and shaking my head); “No, no, it’s just a caaard (slowly with emphasis)”

Her (not laughing AT ALL); “Well, if there is anything but paper in the envelope they will x-ray it, so you MUST declare it”.

Me (not laughing any longer); “Seriously???”

She handed me the form and I started giggling at the absurdity of it all.  She was still not laughing.  So by way of explanation, and not wanting to completely spoil her day, I said:  “Look, I don’t wish to be rude, and I certainly am not pointing this at you personally, but I have to laugh.  We pay more and more all the time for posting things and the service is worse and what we have to go through is more and more complex and yet no one ever explains this to us until we come in and try to do business.  I am currently waiting for a parcel I ordered four weeks ago which I paid $20 postage for and which is simply four boxes of gluten free crackers (a type which I cannot buy locally).  It is not coming from overseas, simply from interstate, and this is one in a series of many parcels over the last 18 months I have had a problem with.”

Her; “Have you spoken with someone about it?”

Me (shaking my head and starting to laugh again… good grief I think it must have been utter frustration that was prodding me to laughter); “Oh, yes, many times.  I have even found the national online Australia Post website and made complaints to them, but the same reason is always given, ‘it is the fault of the delivery contractor’.”

She then chimed in saying ‘yes, it seems ridiculous you can get better service in Sydney!’ (I presume she was saying this because where we live is such a small place -27,000- and one would think service here would be better than a city the size of Sydney… yes, one would…)

I underscored her observation by saying “Why is it the fault of the contractor, and not whoever has repeatedly hired incompetent contractors? And why doesn’t someone sack them and get someone who can do the job?? Surely there must be someone out there who is willing to do the job responsibly? Eighteen months or longer this has been going on!” (Believe it or not, I was still smiling and chuckling).  As I finished up the transaction, customs declaration and all, I bid her a pleasant day and left her somewhat bewildered, I think.  But perhaps, just perhaps, her memory of the crazy, laughing customer might prod her to mention to the ‘powers that be’ all is not well out there in the kingdom of those who pay their wages!!!

(I love that I can write about this and it makes me feel better.  What would you like to write about that would make you feel more empowered??)

My Cups

Tags

coffee, Collections, home, life, tea

Recently I caught myself looking through my collection of mugs for just the right one from which to drink my afternoon cup of herbal tea.  As I reached for the perfect one with the happy, yellow wattle flowers on it, I realised I always choose this cup for my green or herbal teas.  Odd.  A few days later, on a cool, rainy autumn day, I was making some tomato soup because it seemed warm and comforting.  It immediately came to me in a flash which mug was the perfect choice from which to drink. The gorgeous, hand painted mug made in Tuscany that I bought over 25 years ago and which seemed a small fortune when I bought it.  I had gotten more than my $28 worth during those years.  It awakened in me my connection with all things Italian every time I held it.

In the mornings when I am anticipating my caffeine addiction, it’s all about the coffee.  So my mug of choice is a porcelain one that has a thinner edge but the mug itself is large enough to give me the required hit of wakefulness.  The colourful decoration of high heels is pure fantasy.  It has been a decade (at least) since I have been able to wear high heels, though this fact did not keep me from buying one last pair a few years ago!  For some reason it reminds me every morning to be hopeful for the potential of the day in front of me.

 

At the other end of the day, as a little aid to slip off into the land of nod, I sometimes enjoy a cup of warm milk with some honey in it.  Always, always this soothing, creamy sweetness must be sipped from my fat little mug that I have had for over 35 years.  It is fairly nondescript, and yet, special in its simplicity.  Everything about it says ‘goodnight’.  It is not highly embellished and stimulating, but humble and quiet and earthy.

 

Until a few days ago it had never occurred to me the importance of my chosen drinking vessels.  And today it seems to me the real importance is my own good fortune to enjoy these moments and to have had the kind of life that affords me such comfort.  My cups runneth over….

Pardon My Confusion

Tags

Confusion, life, Travel

On my recent return trip from the USA I was travelling alone.  So I had plenty of time to observe and muse about the ironies happening along the way.  As I left Greater Cincinnati airport, which is, by the way, in Kentucky, and not Ohio, where Cincinnati is located, I approached the TSA area to go through airport security. The first sign informed me I was entering the security area.  The second sign posted along the walkway of the security area stated it was not an area that required the removal of jackets and shoes.  Bless.  It was winter and I was glad for the small mercy.  However, only six or eight steps further along the way a sign read “please remove jackets and shoes for security”.  Ok so my moment of relief was extremely short lived.  And in the end, as we went through the security check, TSA agents told us to remove our jackets but NOT our shoes.  A little something for everyone! Maybe these mixed messages were purposeful to confuse the bad guys, I don’t know.  It sure as hell confused the rest of us.

 After 16 hours flying, we arrived in Brisbane. We had to transit through Brisbane to Sydney due to a fuel stop. We had to clear security again, even though all we did was get off of the same plane and back onto it again after they had refuelled.  We were not allowed into the airport at large, only through a hallway leading to security and passed a single coffee kiosk adjacent to the gate area.  In that instance we all heard a woman tell us to take our mobile phones out of our bags, and having meekly and sleepily complied, were immediately surprised to have her sternly tell us to put them back into our bags!  Good grief is there no end to the situations about which we seem to understand nothing?

In desperate need of a good cup of coffee I stood on the queue at the coffee kiosk, along with other desperadoes from our flight, to get a cup of our addiction. We gathered afterward at the gate for re-boarding, anticipating sipping and relaxing when back on board the aircraft.  But wait… it seems you are not allowed to take hot beverages on board the aircraft, so we quickly consumed them before boarding…. Except for the flight attendant sitting right beside me who took his cup of the very same hot beverage on board with him!  Excuse me?

Well, that’s life.  Confusion reigns.  We have little control over our environment but we can choose to shrug, see the irony and laugh at ourselves.  At least the morning scene in Brisbane was unambiguously gorgeous!

Dad

Tags

family, life

The relationship we have with our parents is no doubt the most influential relationship in our lives, for good or for bad.  I have thought about writing down some of my thoughts about Dad for months now but today, the day after he has gone into hospice care, is the day. I can’t help but look back and examine the influence he has had on my life to date, and will no doubt continue to have for the rest of my days.

Dad always worked very, very hard.  He wanted to succeed at everything he did.  He didn’t finish high school until he was about 78 when he took his GSD.  He was very proud of that success, as well he should have been.  No person succeeds all on their own, though, and our Mother was his stalwart companion, his equal, in every sense of the word.  She had the added quality of smoothing out some of Dad’s ‘sharp bits’.

I was a little girl and remember sitting in the little utility room at our house on Main Street in Bethel, trying to draw one day.  He seldom had time for small things with us, but this particular day, he sat down on one of our little chairs and showed me his version of how to draw a woman’s face.  I wonder if he remembers that as clearly as I do?  Probably not.  For it is often not the things that we intend our children to remember that make the biggest impression on them.  Awkward.

 There is a photo of the three of us as young children, 3,4 and 5 years old sitting in the grass intensely engaged in a ‘kid thing’ with a feather and my newly acquired hospital bracelet, which I was still wearing after release from hospital.  It is a gorgeous photo and, I think, possibly the pride of his creative endeavours. There were many, so that is a big call.

I shared two trips to Italy with my parents over the years.  I sensed it was a great source of satisfaction to Dad to experience the culture and the people of the land that was part of his heritage.  In the classic Italian tradition he was always a ‘hands on’ guy, able to make just about anything he put his mind to, a quality all three of his children have happily inherited.  He was very proud that he held a patent for a piece of equipment he designed, and rightly so.  How many of us have that credit to our name?

Dad’s greatest goal in life was to support his family.  He was a great provider under adverse circumstances at times.  Most people knew him as the man who grew the Christmas trees.  He called himself a ‘farmer’.  It was an unlikely career for a man who studied music and probably never visited a farm when growing up.  He lived in a small village and knew nothing about farming when he started growing trees.  It took seven years from the start of growing the trees before he harvested the first tree.  That was seven years of him trying to fill in the family income with part time work in between growing trees, but mostly living on the income Mom brought to the family as a nurse.  One year, the company to whom he sold the trees tried to default on the agreement and Dad told them he would burn the trees before he would sell them under the conditions they wanted.  He burned the trees.  It must have been heartbreaking for him.

Dad loved wildlife, the animal kind, not the hell-raising kind.  We nursed numerous orphaned baby animals that he would bring home from the farm, among them skunks, foxes and rabbits.   He loved sunrises at the farm, Mom’s cooking, especially her fried chicken, and he loved his children and grandchildren.  And in recent years he loved the company of their dog Angel, who really was sent from heaven to give them a lot of joy.

 He survived five years in the army from the age of 17.  He was a musician and a litter bearer at Guadalcanal and due to a permanent inner ear problem, extremely seasick throughout the Pacific tour of duty.  He survived cancer, kidney stones, and multiple bouts of Malaria and pneumonia.  But Parkinson’s was the thing he couldn’t beat.  Dad was a fighter, even at times when it wasn’t necessary.  But he was determined to live life on his own terms.  Dying was hard for him.  Living had been hard too, but he had succeeded.  Finally living became too difficult, however, and the dying has won out.  I have just learned he passed away, almost exactly at the same time I was writing these words, so hopefully he will know I loved him and wish only peace for him.

Be a duck.

Let’s say for a moment that ducks are part of reality, as we know it. (for a reality check, read blogger Ido Lanuel: http://idolanuel.com/2012/07/19/the-duck1/)

Two ducks are skimming placidly along the surface of a lake.  Suddenly for no apparent reason they seem to have a disagreement.  Perhaps one got a bit of plankton the other wanted, it doesn’t matter.  They have their little spat and at the end they distance themselves and flap their wings as if they are about to take off, but they don’t.  They lift themselves up with vigorous flapping in a great surge of energy, and then settle onto the water’s surface again, paddling quietly away as if nothing ever happened.

I have paraphrased this from Eckhart Tolle’s book The Power of Now.  Yesterday was the first day of a new year and, as one does, I reviewed some of the events and conversations of the year passed.  Among my thoughts was some advice I had recently given to someone dear to me.  It has become a favourite analogy, partly because it shows what wisdom we can observe in nature, and partly because it gives me a vivid picture to recall when the wisdom is needed.

Be a duck.

As Tolle explains when he uses this analogy, the ducks have their disagreement, rid themselves of their excess energy, and resume their placid journey along the water’s surface once again. This can be us in life… if we allow it.  We can rid ourselves of the excessive energy heaped upon us, or which we generate toward others, and continue on with our lives in relative peace and greater wisdom.  We can make the choice to carry a grudge or we can choose to learn from the experience and move on. Carry the knowledge but not the excess emotional baggage.

Sounds simple.

Take a deep breath and release it slowly, blowing out with it that which you want to release.  Go for a walk… even if it is just to the tearoom to make a cup of tea and be with yourself.  Let it go.  None of us is perfect and at first it will be a difficult practice to use every time. But as much as possible, be a duck.  Let the passed transgressions live in the past where they cannot hurt you.  This year, take back the Present, dwell in it, and make it your gift to yourself.

Ten Thousand Hours

Tags

coincidence, collage, inspiration, jewellery, synchronisity

Are you excellent at something?  Anything?  Hard question to answer about oneself as it is rather subjective, but probably most of us have some idea. To become excellent at something most of us must have spent about 10 years or 10,000 hours doing it.  And it can’t be just mindless repetition, it needs to be practice ‘in the zone’ when you are really engaged in the activity. (read: ‘The Talent Code’ by  Daniel Coyle)

To spend 10,000 hours doing anything would indicate you probably really enjoy, perhaps are even passionate about, that activity.  Until recently I felt that eating was possibly the only passionate thing I had done for long enough to be excellent.

And then… I had the good fortune to awake from my 7,834^th hour (estimate!) of something to find that, if not excellent, I’m getting pretty good at it.  Nearly 20 years ago I got my first ‘tickle’ to make jewellery.  I don’t know exactly why, but as far back as I can remember I have loved making things out of other things… recycling, really.  When I was a teen I loved collage and still do.  I have made dozens of different collages over the years, ranging from tile mosaics to computer collage, as well as traditional paper and found objects.  Perhaps it is the process of taking something and making it into something else that I enjoy.  Maybe it is that I get to completely make up my own rules, and thereby, my own choices in colour, shape, medium and style.  As well, I have always loved working on things that require dexterity.

As with most things, in the beginning I knew nothing about jewellery making.  Nor did I live somewhere easy to find lessons, the middle of Outback, Australia.  But my passion was consistent.  For a couple of years I played, learned and experimented in whatever spare time I could find.  I read books (this was before online demonstration was easily accessible), and got tips from a few people, as well as observed at every opportunity.

As with most creative people I would take a break from jewellery and explore other expressive outlets.  But every couple of years I would come back to jewellery making.  When this happened, it was as if my brain had been working and learning the craft, even while I was doing other things.  Each time I got a little better, and practiced with new materials and styles.

Eventually, I tried a silver smithing course.  Not for me.  I made costume jewellery for a small boutique, which honed my skills.  As I sold things over the years, I poured the small profits back into better quality materials and tools.  Fast forward to 18 months ago… I wanted to make earrings.  I mean I CRAVED making earrings.  Perhaps it was my own continuing search for the perfect earrings that inspired me.  Spreading the materials out on the dining table, I created.  Something had happened to my skills, the colour and shape combinations, and the finish were suddenly much better.  Each pair was like a little work of art to me.  At the end of 27 pair of earrings and a few necklaces, I put it all away again.

Every now and then someone would ask me if I was still making jewellery.  “Yes”, I would answer, “but I’m not selling them, I just make them.”  Strange looks were the reactions!  I didn’t know what to do with them.  Nothing felt quite right.  I had learned from passed experience that sitting at the markets took a large time and energy commitment that diminished the time I had to create.  I had also learned that selling things online took an equally large time commitment by the time one took the orders and packaged and posted the pieces.  (A friend suggested I put them in a cupboard as a legacy to my daughter.  She would not be nearly as amused as the person who made the suggestion!!)

And then, as the Universe would have it, a good friend happened to mention to a local gallery what nice jewellery her friend was making.  The gallery manager’s ears perked up and she said she was looking for a local artist’s jewellery for Christmas sales.  Well, you know the Universe never gets these things wrong.  ‘Luck’ is preparation meeting opportunity, but the synchronicity of it all intrigues me.

In the first 6 weeks over 40 pieces sold.  I couldn’t keep up the pace so we increased the prices, and still, they sell.  They may not be excellent, but the people have spoken.  I love making each and every piece.  Come to think of it, in addition to the thousands of hours of practice, the love and intention put into each piece is probably just as important.